


a denial, a denial, a denial

by neomeruru



Series: All Stick, No Carrot [1]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: ...but not in THIS fic, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Blood, Consensual Violence, Derogatory Language, Dirty Talk, M/M, Partner sharing, Polyamory, Rape Roleplay, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Undernegotiated Kink, Unexpected Feels™, brotherhood era, established ignoct
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-28
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-18 14:11:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16120127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neomeruru/pseuds/neomeruru
Summary: Ignis has a fantasy, and it's one that Noctis can't easily fulfill. Luckily, Gladio knows just how to do it—and is more than happy to pitch in for a good cause.(The cause is fucking up Ignis.)





	a denial, a denial, a denial

**Author's Note:**

  * For [egelantier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/egelantier/gifts), [Lagerstatte](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lagerstatte/gifts), [gooseberry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gooseberry/gifts), [saisei](https://archiveofourown.org/users/saisei/gifts).



> With love to the Ignis Whump discord, who watched this slowly turn, paragraph by paragraph, from 'what if Noctis enlisted Gladio's help to treat Ignis like a living sex toy' into 'what if Gladio shoved all these Unexpected Feelings™ up Ignis's ass, with his tongue' and yet, somehow, still think I'm cool.
> 
> Everything portrayed in this fic is consensual, though terribly under-negotiated. But whatever, I'm not their sex therapist and everything works out fine. It's Final _Fantasy_ , not Final _Let's Have A Long Conversation About Limits_.
> 
> The only sexual content is between Gladio and Ignis; the Ignoct is sort of vaguely polyamorous background radiation.
> 
> This fic was not originally written for, but ended up being perfectly aligned with, [this prompt on the kinkmeme](https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/5690.html?thread=10850362#cmt10850362) for Ignis/any with Ignis taking it on his hands and knees.

The sound of the front door opening is a surprise. Usually, Ignis has the hours between school and dinner to himself, as Noctis tends to find somewhere else to be if he's not needed at the Citadel. Ignis had received a text only an hour ago— _with prom at the arcade home for dinner love you xx_ —and certainly he wouldn't be home already?

Ignis dries his hands on a dishtowel, frowning. "Prince Noctis?" he calls, hedging his bets Noct might not be alone.

"No, just me," comes the reply. "Figured you'd be here. Want some company?"

Ignis laughs and turns his attention back to the roux simmering on the stove. "If you're coming looking for a free meal, you'll be disappointed in the menu," he replies back, watching out of the corner of his eye as Gladio comes out of the entryway and puts his heavy backpack on the island counter.

Gladio slides onto one of the bar stools and rests his elbows on the counter, sagging as if the day weighs heavily on his shoulders. "Please, vegetables," he entreats, clasping his hands. "If not for my sake, then for Noct's."

"Not tonight, I'm afraid," Ignis says mildly. "Though, here—" he continues, reaching over to the fridge to pull out a plate of prepared raw vegetables. "If you must, you may pick from this."

Gladio takes the plate and tells it, very seriously, "I am going to destroy you."

"Someone may as well," Ignis says. He lives in nothing but hope that one day the Prince's palate will mature, and Ignis _will_ be prepared for that day.

It's gratifying—and an excellent tool in Ignis's battle to convince Noctis there's more to life than protein and carbohydrates—that a man as broad and strong as Gladio can pack away as many vegetables as he does. He knows the science, of course, but there's a lot to be said for a flesh-and-blood example.

"How are your classes?" he asks, as he adds a handful of grated sharp cheddar to the roux and removes it from the heat. The water he'd put on earlier has come to a boil as well, so he pours in the macaroni noodles.

"The same," Gladio replies, around a mouthful of baby carrot. "Buncha bullshit. Saved all my essay classes for this semester, like some kinda idiot."

Ignis, who'd accelerated his studies and graduated last year, remembers the feeling well. "Start early, and expect to spend three times as long as you think you'll need. And if all else fails, remember that in a handful of weeks the suffering will be over regardless of your actions."

"Yeah, thanks _Teach_ ," Gladio retorts, sliding his backpack towards himself and retrieving a thick literature textbook. "It's not like my grades matter, anyway."

"That they do not," Ignis agrees. Unlike Ignis, Gladio's career was assured, and had been practically since conception. With a Shield already in service, though, he'd been encouraged to expand his horizons, even if only to pursue something light. _Also_ unlike Ignis, who'd double-majored in political science and history.

"Post-Romantic Lucian Literature?" Ignis reads, leaning over. "Your elective, I take it?"

"Hm. Knitting was full," Gladio says, averting his eyes. When he opens the textbook, the spine folds easily, well-loved. "It ain't half-bad."

"Perhaps you'll find your calling yet," Ignis jokes. Gladio huffs and settles in, halfway through the heavy tome already, with a notepad and pen beside him.

He stirs the roux for a few more minutes in silence, listening to the pot of noodles bubble away. He appreciates that Gladio is one of those people around whom he feels no need to perform, where he can comfortably lapse into silence. Other people, even other members of the royal household, often assume Ignis feels a need to 'cut loose' when not visibly on the clock, and tend to fill the air with gossip or idle complaints when alone. Ignis tries to refrain from the former and strictly forbids himself from the latter, a trait he's been told can make him seem standoffish, or even cold. And so, he often feels strained when interacting with people who do not understand the depth of his regard for Noctis.

Gladio is, perhaps, the only other person who understands what it's like, having practically grown up in each other's pockets since they were both called by the Crown. Serving Noctis gave him structure, a purpose, a calling, prestige, a comfortable living — all good things on their own, but fortunately as he and Noctis grew older, and their relationship had changed for the decidedly non-platonic, he had come to realize that it also gave him _pleasure_.

Gladio, at least, respected that, and though he himself took little pleasure from serving anyone, as someone on the inside he at least understood why. He doesn't try to entice Ignis to blow off steam, he doesn't display the compulsion to posture for Ignis like so many others, but he doesn't treat Ignis like obedient furniture, either.

When he's satisfied the cheese has melted, he sets it aside and turns to Gladio, plucking at his apron strings. But before he can open his mouth to speak, Gladio looks up from his lap sharply, illuminated by his phone. "What?" Gladio snaps.

"Hmm? I hadn't said anything yet," Ignis says, tipping his head to the side. "Is everything alright?"

Ignis leans over the counter to look at Gladio's phone—a poor habit, he knows; he is nosy by both nature and by profession—and Gladio stiffens and shuts it off, putting it face-down on the counter.

"It's nothing," Gladio mutters, drumming his fingers on the marble. "Don't worry about it. How's the food? You almost done?"

"Erm," Ignis starts, feeling as if he's missed something obvious. "Well, yes, there's just the noodles boiling, but it'll be only a few minutes. Haven't you eaten at all today? You've become rather snappish, all of a sudden."

Gladio sits back in the stool and crosses his arms. "Ain't hungry for noodles, is all."

Ignis can feel his jaw set. "As I said earlier, you'll be disappointed in tonight's menu. You're welcome to seek out other options."

"Aw, Iggy, don't be like that," Gladio cajoles. "Come on, I'm hungry, and I'm so much bigger than you and Noct. Make me a sandwich or something."

Ignis scoffs and tries to smile, though something in Gladio's eyes makes the smile wither on the vine. "I absolutely will not," he replies, firmly. "I'm certain if you go down to the Citadel kitchens—"

"Suck my dick, then," Gladio interrupts.

Ignis is arrested mid-sentence, feeling his back go as straight as if someone had lashed him to a pole. Something prickles up the back of his neck. "Pardon me," he asks, slowly.

Gladio's smirking now, rubbing his stubble with his knuckles. "I said, suck my dick, Scientia. I've had a shitty day, I'm up to my tits in schoolwork, and you're not even gonna feed me? Least you can do is help me out a little. Noct doesn't have to know."

Ignis can hear the blood in his ears. Gladio's gall robs him of speech.

"Heard you're good at it," Gladio muses. "Heard you're _real_ good at it."

"G-get out," Ignis manages.

Gladio seems to consider this. "No," he says, after a moment.

"Get out," Ignis repeats, more sure this time. "Get out, and I'll give you the _chance_ to tell Noctis what you just said, before I do."

"Mm-mm," Gladio hums. "I don't think he'll mind. Noctis knows what you need, what you're good for. You wanna get told what to do. So I'm gonna tell you nicely one more time: get over here, and suck my dick."

The prickle up Ignis's neck turns into a cold sweat; his stomach turns over in a combination of confusion and fear… and a flicker of arousal, so strong it feels nauseating. He has to wipe his hands on his apron, still hanging forgotten around his neck.

"Gladio, I—"

"Ignis," Gladio interrupts again, leaning forward to fix him with a look. Ignis is pinned. Without breaking eye contact, Gladio reaches out and taps his phone where it lays on the counter. "It's happening."

There's something in Ignis's throat. Logically it cannot be his heart, being an anatomical impossibility, but it certainly feels like it, his pulse hard and insistent. He swallows. Wipes his hands again. Doesn't look away. "Truly," he questions, quietly.

Gladio's lips quirk up on the side, baring one pointed canine. He doesn't answer, but he doesn't move, either. Just waits.

Ignis takes in one breath, lets it out slowly. "I'll not be easy prey."

The other side of Gladio's smirk comes up, forming a wicked bow. "I'm counting on it," he growls.

Everything stops, then everything happens at once: Gladio, exploding off the stool to come up and over the island, sending his notebook flying; Ignis, dodging his first sweeping grasp by going low, then coming up again with the heavy cutting board. It connects with Gladio's jaw with a satisfying _thunk_. It's too thick to splinter, but Gladio's head snaps back and he lets out a surprised grunt, giving Ignis a chance to back up from the counter and get his bearings.

Hand-to-hand, he's at a disadvantage across the board in weight, height, reach, and skill. He could deceive himself by believing in that old chestnut, that his smaller size grants greater maneuverability, but those who say that have clearly not fought Gladio, who is as supernaturally agile as any of the Crown's warriors. 

In armed combat he may have a slight advantage, in that fighting in an enclosed space lends itself better to small blades. In the second he's thought that, though, Gladio's over the counter and in his space, in the narrow galley of the kitchen, his proximity keeping Ignis from doing the flourish that summons his daggers from the armiger. He swings at Ignis again, less for impact than to contain him in those massive arms. Ignis backs away as much as he can, coming up against the counter, ducking and weaving but eventually catching an arm around the neck.

Gladio pulls him in with alarming speed, grappling Ignis's head between his arm and his ribs, squeezing hard and trying to force him down. They scuffle, but Ignis doesn't bother flailing or striking at him with his hands; he's all muscle in his core, it'd be like punching a wall and just as productive. Instead, head pounding with pressure from the hold, he grabs a fistful of Gladio's tank top and swings his inside leg forwards, hooking it behind Gladio's knee and twisting.

Gladio buckles. Not entirely, of course—it's been a while since the 'use your opponent's weight against them' gambit had caught him off guard—but enough that his grip on Ignis loosens and Ignis is able to slither out from under his arm, and out of his apron in doing so. He braces a fist in his other hand and drives his elbow up, under Gladio's ribs.

The air goes out of Gladio and he stumbles back against the island. Ignis doesn't have time to celebrate, much less to run—he almost doesn't notice Gladio's foot, but he certainly feels it; it stomps him right in the gut, throwing him back against the stove. The stove rattles, hissing as the pot of boiling water sloshes onto the element.

He considers, briefly, grabbing the pot and throwing it, but he's just as likely to splash himself and it'll most definitely hinder him from fleeing the kitchen, and leave an ungodly mess in Noct's apartment besides. Yelling for help would have quite the unwelcome response. His only option, really, is running away; taking Gladio on in a fight, even if evenly-matched—which they are not—would be a fool's game.

Too long, again. Gladio surges forward, going this time for an open-palmed smack across Ignis's face. His glasses go flying. Ignis catches the backhand, too: disorienting, thrilling. His vision pops like a television turning off and he has to blink, twice, three times before he realizes that without his glasses it won't be coming back much at all. 

Gladio's nothing but a smudge of black and tan as he moves, crowding Ignis up against the stove. He's boxed in by those huge arms, the massive breadth of him, body heat and the tang of clean sweat that clings even under the scent of soap and deodorant, fresh from the gym showers.

He leans in close, pressing his body from knees to chest against Ignis. The stove bites into Ignis's lower back, the element radiates heat, and Gladio is huge and immovable. His breath is hot on Ignis's neck when he leans in even more and inhales deeply, rutting against Ignis.

"Look at you, getting hard for this," he laughs, and yes, Ignis _is_ so afflicted, hot and cold adrenaline up his spine, jerking when Gladio's thigh presses in too hard. "Just as much of a slut as I thought you'd be. I just had to—" he reaches down and gropes Ignis through his pants, and Ignis cries out in horrified pleasure, "—work for it a bit."

Gladio's fingers are hard and merciless, kneading Ignis without care. Ignis sets his jaw, breathing out heavily through his teeth. "You're one to talk," he grits out, shifting his weight so his own thigh brushes up against the bulge in Gladio's pants. "You're getting off on this too."

"Mmm," Gladio hums. He runs his lips down Ignis's neck, sucking and biting seemingly at random. Ignis's hands curl around the oven door handle, the only thing in reach. "Thinking about what I'm going to do to you, now that I've got you. What I'm gonna make you do."

Gladio's mouth closes and bites down, hard, and Ignis can almost feel the bruise forming. He jerks backwards, making some kind of noise, and Gladio just shoves him harder against the stove in warning. One hand comes up and grabs him by the hair, taking a fistful and pulling hard and slow until Ignis's head bows back and his neck is exposed.

"I want you on your knees," Gladio continues, unruffled by Ignis's disobedience. "I want that perfect mouth on my cock, and you're gonna give it to me."

His other hand comes up and meticulously starts popping buttons, revealing Ignis's chest inch by sweaty inch. When enough is exposed, he slips his hand inside Ignis's shirt and pinches his nipple, twisting and pulling. Ignis's knees buckle, and the hand in his hair tightens.

The sound Gladio makes is appreciative, like a man appraising a prize dog. "Then I'm gonna take you on the floor, right in the middle of your boyfriend's apartment. Shove my huge cock in your little hole, show you how a real man fucks. What you've been missing."

Gladio pulls back, gives Ignis a considering look. His fingers tighten, suspending Ignis from two points of pain. "I should take you in his bed. He's had you there, right? I'm gonna ruin it. Next time he fucks you, you'll be thinking of me."

Something must show in Ignis's face, some flash of real discomfort. Ignis has lost control of his tells. Gladio clicks his tongue, then laughs. Abruptly, the pressure on Ignis—on hair, nipple, and groin—disappears, and the world is a spinning blur again as Gladio flips him around to face the stove. He crowds him in again, hands pinning his wrists, rubbing his hard cock against the crease of Ignis's slacks.

Gladio's mouth is on his neck again, soft grunts against the bruised skin there as he rubs off on Ignis. "Fuck it," he growls, "I'll just take you here."

The unyielding ceramic of the stove is punishing when his cock leaps at Gladio's threats, and he shifts back to relieve the pressure only to grind back more onto the intimidating—breathtaking—bulge in Gladio's sweatpants. 

Gladio's breath stutters, and he twists Ignis's arms behind his back so he can hold them looped in one arm, Ignis's elbows touching and held close to Gladio's body. Ignis's back arches, locking him in that position, pushing his rear out for Gladio to mount. "Yeah," Gladio grunts, "Now you're into it. You like the feel of this?"

"No," Ignis lies, but there's no lie to the tremor in his voice, or the way his breath leaves him in short gasps every time Gladio thrusts him against the stove. "Please, don't—don't do this, Gladio, please—ah!"

His voice cracks when Gladio reaches down and gropes him again, rubbing and stroking Ignis through his slacks. "Don't," he gasps, as Gladio tugs his belt from his buckle, flicks the button and shoves his hand inside.

"You're wet," he observes, smearing the head of Ignis's cock with his palm. He twists, ineffectively, trying to free his arms from where they're trapped against Gladio's chest, but he can't even lift his elbows to slip the hold.

When Gladio finally—finally—closes his hand around Ignis's bare cock, Ignis jerks like a live wire. He struggles anew, kicking at Gladio's legs, unable to lose his footing for the strength of Gladio's arm holding him up. Gladio kicks his knees apart, wedging his body between Ignis's legs so he can't get the leverage to kick.

He is pinned, utterly, between Gladio's chest and the hard lip of the stove, between the cruel ministrations of his hand and the foreboding grind of his erection. He, and surely Gladio, can feel the way his cock burbles helplessly, leaking his shameful arousal all over Gladio's fist.

He drops his head, feels Gladio mouth at the knobs of the top of his spine. "Please, Gladio," he whispers, surprised to hear his voice genuinely caught in his throat. "Don't…"

"Mmm?" Gladio hums, still pumping his cock. "Don't what? Don't give you what your slutty ass needs?"

Ignis's face feels hot, and tight. "Don't…" he gasps, "don't tell Noctis, please, just… whatever you do to me, don't…"

The pressure on Ignis's arms relaxes, letting him pull free. They tingle as he sets his hands down on the ceramic—pausing, for a moment, to flick the burner off. Gladio huffs in amusement against his shoulder. "That's more like it," he says, sliding his free hand up Ignis's chest until it's wrapped under his jaw, index and middle fingers grazing his lips. "Stop fighting, and I won't tell Noct how easily you spread your legs for me."

"Easily," Ignis repeats, incredulous, and Gladio's fingers hook over his teeth.

"Our little secret," Gladio says. "Come on, you want this."

Gladio shifts and, neatly suspended between his hands, Ignis goes where he's led until they face the solid countertop instead of the stove. Gladio guides him down, pulling him down by the jaw until his chest is parallel to the countertop. His fingers slip from Ignis's mouth, trailing spit over his cheek.

"Go on, get that for me," he says, gesturing to the glass jar of coconut oil nestled in the shadows behind the knife block. "Bet you're tight as fuck, if that scrawny little beanpole's all you've got. Bet it's like a toothpick."

Ignis gets his hands under him, twists back. "Gladio," he warns, but Gladio grabs him by the loose collar of his shirt and wrenches him down, splaying his arms.

"Don't you get precious," he growls, shaking Ignis by the scruff. "Be grateful this tight ass is gonna get destroyed by someone who—actually—knows—how to—fuck." Each word is punctuated by a harder shake and a firm squeeze around his cock, just this side of too painful.

Ignis grits his teeth, feeling his hot breath condense on the marble countertop and reflect wet heat back on his face. He reaches up, grasping blindly for the jar of oil, knocking against the various and sundry things he'd added to Noct's kitchen over the years.

His knuckles scrape over the wood of the knife block and his mind goes still.

\--

_It had felt like it came out of nowhere when Gladio turned to him after training, crushing his empty plastic water bottle in one hand. "You know, I bet I could take you in a knife fight."_

_Ignis had paused with his towel over his face, drawing it slowly down to fix Gladio with an unimpressed look. "You may be the superior all-around fighter, Gladio," he said, voice carefully flat, "but perhaps your ego is getting the better of you.'_

_"Mmm," Gladio responded, shrugging. "I'm just saying, I could take you."_

_Gladio boasting about his martial prowess was nothing new. What Ignis had found less easy to understand was the slow smile that had spread across Noct's face: like he, for once, knew something Ignis did not._

\--

Gladio'd seen the knife block, of course, long before he'd decided to move them over to the counter. It was just too good to resist. Ignis still had some fight in him, probably—enough fight to actually pull a weapon? It was impossible to tell.

Which is why, when Ignis's hand closes over the hilt of the paring knife, he's ready.

(He's also _proud_ , in a sense: despite appearances, the paring knife is the superior choice over the chef's knife, far better for close combat and harder to have used against the wielder. He has all of part of a second to enjoy the feeling before—)

Ignis swings the knife back, holding it in a reverse grip. Gladio slams his palm into Ignis's elbow as he swings, then digs his fingers into the joint in a way that, as he knows from experience, shoots pain all the way down the arm. Ignis cries out. He doesn't drop the knife, but the body's natural reaction to pain arrests him, makes him draw his arm in to his chest.

Gladio quickly slides his hand down Ignis's arm, taking him by the wrist and shaking. Ignis's knuckles rap against the countertop but he only grunts and holds onto the knife more tightly. The edge of the blade nicks Gladio across the back of his fingers and he hisses in pain, jerking back—

—then the world goes all white and loud like a bomb's gone off in his head, and the pain floods him. Stupid, _stupid_ ; he's gonna have a bruise on his forehead the shape of Iggy's skull in a few minutes, and that's the least of his worries, because Ignis wriggles out of his hold as his consciousness sizzles.

His brain fires off danger alarms even as he blinks hard and shakes his head, trying to stop seeing double. Good thing Iggy's on board, because he'd probably already be gutted if he wasn't. _Stupid_. Ignis is a few feet away, just out of reach, in a good low stance with his fists up. The blade, still reversed, glints in the stove light.

Gladio bares his teeth as his vision clears. "Well, shit," he says, dropping into his own sparring stance. "You ain't done yet."

Ignis's cheeks are red, both from exertion and a slightly darker blemish where Gladio'd put his face into the counter. His shirt is open, and his slacks too. "You're all talk," he sniffs, "You can't just flex your muscles and—"

Between one word and the next, Ignis flips the paring knife up with a tricky bit of bladework and strikes.

Gladio'd had his undivided attention on Ignis, knew he'd probably pull something sneaky, and that knowledge keeps the blade from going into his stomach—something Ignis'd probably counted on, trusting Gladio to know him in turn. Gladio knocks his blade hand away with an open palm, twisting around his arm to try to capture the knife. Ignis, not so easily thwarted, slides away from the block like liquid around a stone. He shifts his weight and tries again.

This time, Gladio barely twists his body to the side, feeling the blade slice through his tank top and trace a line of cold fire across his ribs. The pain is clarifying, and makes time seem to slow down as he brings his inside arm down to clamp Ignis's forearm between it and his body. He reaches out with his other hand and grabs the back of Ignis's head, pulling him close.

Ignis grunts in pain when Gladio slams his knee into him, wheezes when he does it again, and can't seem to catch his breath as he keeps doing it, driving his knee over and over into Ignis's soft parts until he goes limp in Gladio's arms. The knife clatters to the floor and Gladio kicks it away, hearing it bounce off of something else in the kitchen with a clang.

Ignis coughs and scratches at him, digging his nails into Gladio's arms, but he's winded, and Gladio's had worse. He grabs Ignis by the back of his open collar again and lets him take a knee. Ignis's shirtsleeve peels away from Gladio's bloody side as he goes, leaving a neat line of red all along the inside of the elbow.

"Bad news, bitch," Gladio growls, gleefully laying it on thick. "Like I said, that was the easy way. Now you're gonna get it hard."

Ignis's head is bowed as he gasps for breath, but Gladio can _see_ the shudder that goes through him. He has to admit—he likes it. Likes it more than he wants to admit. He's slept with people who like this kind of stuff before, sure, he attracts a certain _type_ , but no one who can take as much as Ignis can, or dish it back out. He'd been trained to fight—damn near _bred_ for it—and being able to do it, to use it to make someone want to bend to his will is… it's real fucking good, he thinks.

Ignis makes a low noise when Gladio starts dragging him forward, forcing him to scrabble on hands and knees or be dragged across the kitchen tile. In the end, it's a little of both. Gladio bowls him into the wall at the end of the kitchen, crowding him in close before Ignis gets a chance to sit up properly.

He puts his foot on Ignis's open fly, pressing down. Ignis jerks and scrambles to a sitting position, pushing himself against the wall as Gladio presses down harder. Even in socked feet, it's probably uncomfortable—better without shoes, even, because he can feel Ignis's dick twitch helplessly under his toes.

"Now," he says, conversationally. "Like I said. I want your mouth on my cock, and I don't give a shit whether you want it or not. So open your mouth and show me you can follow some simple fucking instructions."

Ignis's lips purse and he tilts his head away, so Gladio steps down harder—enough to make Ignis cry out in alarm. He slaps his hand over Ignis's mouth at the noise. "Go on, scream," he cajoles, and steps down again. "Ain't nobody coming for you."

Even muffled, Ignis's scream is a full-bodied thing; he doesn't commit by halves. Gladio keeps his palm over Ignis's mouth until he stops, then sticks his thumb in Ignis's mouth, laying it along his molars so when the inevitable bite comes—and it does—it's just pain instead of literally biting off his thumb.

Still, it fucking hurts. He wraps the rest of his fingers around Ignis's jaw and slams his head into the wall; Ignis releases his thumb, bleary-eyed. He spans Ignis's face with his hand, digging into the temporomandibular joint until Ignis gives in and opens his mouth again.

"One more chance," Gladio says, releasing Ignis's face. The urge to work the pain out of his jaw must be intense, but Ignis keeps his mouth open, staring up at Gladio with hate in his eyes. Gladio smirks and runs his bitten thumb over Ignis's lower lip, pulling it this way and that, then rubs it over Ignis's sharp lower teeth. He's got a permanent retainer on the bottom from all that nerdy dental work he'd had done when he was a teenager—how had Gladio never noticed that before?

Ignis knits his brow and breathes out through his nose, long and measured, when Gladio slides his first two fingers into his mouth. He's almost gentle, exploratory even, relishing being inside Ignis's body for the first time. He presses down on Ignis's tongue, feeling the strong muscle flex under his fingers. "Fuck, yes, I knew your mouth would be perfect," he mutters, sliding his fingers back and forth over Ignis's tongue. He keeps that up for a while, feeling his fingers get wetter as saliva pools in Ignis's mouth, finally spilling out over his hand and dripping onto Ignis's bare chest.

"That's more like it," Gladio praises him, sliding his fingers all the way back until Ignis's throat closes reflexively around his fingertips. "Literally gagging for it. You needed this."

Ignis's face goes red all over as he fights the reflex to gag on Gladio's fingers. Gladio doesn't make it easy for him, and eventually Ignis loses, drooling thick saliva as his head bobs in warning. Gladio takes his fingers out, giving Ignis a chance to recover—he doesn't _actually_ want Ignis to throw up, but he does love the distress written all over Ignis's face at the prospect of it. Ignis's eyes are squeezed shut and leaking tears as he takes short breaths: in through his nose, out through his mouth.

Gladio takes the opportunity to finally push his sweatpants down—it's not like they were doing much to contain his dick, considering, but finally getting them out of the way is such a fucking relief he can't help but moan. Getting his hand on it is even better, still slick from the inside of Ignis's mouth. He braces his other hand on the wall and leans in, lazily stroking himself just out of Ignis's reach.

Ignis licks his lips, gets the bottom one stuck in his teeth for a second. "Gladio, please…" he says, quietly, "Please don't do this. I don't—"

"I don't care," Gladio interrupts. He releases his cock, letting it slap against Ignis's face to the sound of his indignant gasp. "You gonna behave?"

Ignis nods once, sharp, eyes still closed. He doesn't need to see; can probably hear Gladio's hand on his dick, smell the tang of pre-come right under his nose. _Gods_ , he's hard as nails. "Good," Gladio says, smearing his leaking head on Ignis's slack lips. "Because if I even _feel_ your teeth, I swear on the Six I will make you swallow them, do you understand."

This time, Ignis makes a helpless little _nn_ noise when he nods. Fear, or arousal—both, ideally. "Hey, eyes up," Gladio orders. "I wanna see the look on your face."

Ignis brow cinches and he opens his eyes slowly, blinking back glassy tears. For a moment, he seems too transfixed by the sight of Gladio's cock to look anywhere else, which is, honestly, kind of a kick, so Gladio just waits until Ignis drags his gaze up to Gladio's face on his own time. There's still anger there, but something else, too—not surrender, not exactly. Ignis is too proud to go down so fast. More like… recognition.

"Come on, get to know it," Gladio says. Ignis's eyes narrow, but he opens his mouth a little, touching his tongue to the underside of Gladio's cockhead. "There you go."

If this were real, there's no way he'd be getting his _anything_ near Ignis's mouth. But, he's pretty sure Ignis doesn't actually want to bite off his dick, so there's no reason _not_ to take advantage and bully his way inside. Ignis's eyes go wide and he lets out a muffled sound of surprise as Gladio pushes past his lips and fills his mouth, stopping short of forcing his way down his throat—more for his own pleasure rather than out of any sense of mercy, honestly. Gladio can feel his tongue work against the underside, trying to adjust to the girth of him.

"Fuck, yes, that's good," he mutters, fucking Ignis's mouth with slow, shallow thrusts. He's not laying it on for Ignis's benefit, either; this part, at least, comes easily. There's no world where having a mouth on your cock isn't going to feel great. After a few seconds of surprised resistance, Ignis closes his mouth around Gladio and starts to suck in time with Gladio's thrusts, his tongue soft and wet. The feeling of his lips and tongue alone is… it's _really_ fucking good… and how unsurprising, that Ignis must have put some time into studying the art.

"Six, you _are_ good at this, aren't you," he groans. "You must use this pretty mouth on his Highness all the time."

Ignis breathes out sharply through his nose, an indignant little noise.

"Yeah, yeah," Gladio says, and cards his fingers through Ignis's hair to grab a solid handful. Enough to pull, when he's ready for it. "You don't want to think about him when you've got another man's cock in your little whore mouth, do you."

This time, the noise is louder, more offended, vibrating deep in his throat. Gladio laughs and pushes in deeper, chasing that sensation. Ignis's throat opens around him, like splitting a peach, cutting off sound and breath. "Too bad, Iggy," he says, closing his fingers in that fistful of hair as it dawns on Ignis that what's ahead is gonna be a struggle. "This isn't about what you want."

Ignis's eyes stare up at him, pleading, as Gladio fucks his throat without letting off for air. "If you were mine, you'd be on your bitch knees every damn day," he grunts. Ignis is hot inside, and wet, that thrill of animal panic making him tight. "Twice a day, _fuck_ , that's good."

He fucks him slow and deep for a few long minutes, with just enough occasional pause to let Ignis gasp around his cock. He only truly lets up when Ignis starts to thrash, and Ignis rears back against the wall, halfway to retching with the need to take a deeper breath. Gladio keeps his cock at Ignis's lips, and this time, he doesn't fuck around. Before Ignis seems ready, Gladio pries his mouth open and hilts himself in Ignis's throat. He fucks him like that: tilting his head back, forcing his way down Ignis's throat with each long, steady thrust, ignoring the way Ignis falters and gags around him. Drool and tears and snot start to pour down Ignis's face with the exertion.

He's always admired Ignis's uncanny perfection, but this? Shit, this is even better. He almost loses his rhythm in trying to keep a mental picture of this moment. And the sound! Fuck, the _sound_ is somehow just as good: the wet sucking noise of his throat, the helpless noises of discomfort, the way his breathing hitches and then comes back, each time more harsh and panicked.

There's pinpricks of pain on his thighs: Ignis's fingertips, digging in for something solid to hold onto as Gladio uses his mouth mercilessly. Gladio slides his foot forward, nudging it under Ignis's balls, and Ignis clutches him like a man dangling from the edge of a cliff. He lifts his toes, just enough to provide some pressure. Ignis moans so loudly Gladio can feel it in the pit of his stomach.

"You're a gods-damned slut," Gladio says, trying not to let his appreciation colour his tone. "You're like a rutting animal."

Ignis folds his legs, impossibly flexible, to move from sitting against the wall to kneeling astride Gladio's shin. He looks up at Gladio through tearful eyes, supplicating.

"You think I give a shit if you get off?" Gladio growls, and Ignis shakes his head as much as the cock still deep in his throat will allow. "That's right, I don't," he continues, but he plants his foot anyway, bending his knee a little to press his shin against Ignis's groin.

Ignis breathes out hard at the first touch of Gladio's leg, his hips jerking. His throat gets even tighter, and Gladio has to hold Ignis's head immobile just to stay in that wet heat. Ignis chokes and gags, bringing up mouthfuls of thick saliva that ooze out around Gladio's cock, and he sobs, and whimpers, and the tears flow freely down his purple face as he rubs off desperately on Gladio's shin, and Gladio thinks, suddenly, _shit, I'm going to come._ He's going to come like this, to the sight of Ignis suffering by his hands, and the thought is both thrilling and instantly, alarmingly sobering.

He releases Ignis's hair. Ignis throws his head back with a spray of saliva and takes huge, gulping breaths, the space between each one punctuated by a guttural moan that seems to come right up from his toes. Six, before just now he'd only heard that noise coming from a Glaive who'd broken his leg after falling from warp.

Gladio's practically shaking with the force of his delayed orgasm, breathing hard through his teeth, but it's nothing on the way Ignis trembles at his feet. He moves his leg away and Ignis, caught off balance, makes a horrified noise and falls forward onto his hands.

"Gladio," Ignis whimpers. His head hangs lower than his shoulderblades, his back still heaving with the force of his breathing.

"So much for not wanting it," Gladio mocks, but this time he must fail to keep all of his affection out of his voice because Ignis just laughs, a short huff that makes him cough for breath right afterwards. "Oh, you think that's fuckin' hilarious, don't you," Gladio continues, grateful for the fact he can smile how he wants to, with Ignis not watching him. "I'm not the one rubbing one out while getting choked, like some kinda pervert."

"Gladio," Ignis says again, this time with a smile in his voice.

Gladio nudges Ignis's shoulder with his knee until he tilts to the side, then rests his foot under Ignis's hard cock again. "You done now, or what," he asks.

Ignis goes still, even his laboured breathing going quiet, and doesn't answer. That's answer enough, honestly, but Gladio waits for one anyway. Noct'd been pretty damn unhelpful in briefing him, but Gladio has a hunch, and that hunch has 'weirdly complicated control issues' written on it in big fuck-off red letters. So he's fine waiting, if it makes Ignis squirm.

He curls his toes, and Ignis makes a noise deep in his throat. "I—" Ignis starts, then swallows and exhales slowly. "I'm at your mercy, Gladiolus."

Something warm uncurls in Gladio's gut, and he finds himself kneeling in front of Ignis, gently helping him rise and sit back on his heels, facing Gladio. He pulls Ignis's shirt free from his slacks, then skims his knuckles up Ignis's chest until he holds Ignis's tear-streaked face in his hands. Ignis is the picture of patience, of acceptance, and returns Gladio's gaze with soft, red-rimmed eyes, their seafoam colour only more vibrant for the contrast.

His lips are swollen, and a little chapped when Gladio touches them with his thumb. Without breaking eye contact, Ignis opens his mouth to pillow Gladio's thumb with his lips, touching it gently with tongue and teeth. His own hands are curled in his lap, palm-up.

It's one of those moments that seems to go on forever, the note at the end of the symphony that draws out before the awed silence, and the crashing applause that follows. Gladio hates the symphony, but he loves the drama. Holding his breath, he closes the distance between them and touches his lips to Ignis's.

It's absurdly chaste, considering what he was just doing to Ignis's mouth, but Ignis returns the kiss in the same spirit. And it's—fuck, he'd imagined kissing Ignis, of course, in the same abstract way he thought about kissing everyone, but the frisson of pleasure that courses through him is electric. Ignis's hands come up and slide around his neck, twisting in the long hair Gladio'd just started growing out, subtly angling him so the next time they come together, it's to parted lips. Ignis's mouth is soft, and Gladio meets his tongue with a gentle touch of his own.

They kiss like that for what must be whole minutes, without hurry or pretense. At some point, Gladio pushes Ignis's shirt completely off his shoulders, and Ignis makes a quiet noise of dismay at the brown line of blood on the arm and the matching wound on Gladio's side.

"It's okay, hey, it's fine," Gladio shushes him, cupping his face again so Ignis can only look at him. And it is, of course; if he'd needed to, he would have taken a potion from the armiger already. It's probably already scabbed over. This, for some reason, feels more pressing.

"Mm— it's just—" Ignis says, between more tender kisses, "this isn't—what I thought your mercy entailed." 

Gladio pulls back until there's about a foot between them again, until his eyes can focus on all of Ignis's face. "Hey," he chides, "this is about what I want, remember?"

Ignis looks amused, and flushed with pleasure. "Is it," he counters, thoughtfully.

"Shithead," Gladio laughs, pulling him in for another kiss, this one Ignis meets with a hunger of his own. He can feel Ignis's teeth close around his bottom lip, sucking, biting when Gladio pulls away to kiss his neck. Gladio returns the favour by sinking his teeth into the muscle of Ignis's neck, making him gasp and jerk forward.

Gladio grabs Ignis firmly by the upper arms, leaving finger indentations in his flesh and keeping him from squirming as Gladio sucks a bruise into his neck, and another, another, marking him up. Ignis whimpers through each one: high, tight noises in his throat. But he doesn't fight.

Gladio pulls back to study his handiwork. The pale skin of Ignis's throat burns bright red, threaded with burst capillaries already seeping bruises. Ignis is tense in his grip, but perfectly still except for the instinctive tremor of adrenaline. It's different than before, in the kitchen.

It's still _Ignis_ though, some six-odd feet of untouchable elegance, and, importantly, _Noct's boyfriend_. Having him pliant in his hands is a rush unlike any of the others. Gladio likes to think he treats his lovers well—has always tried to, even when he was younger and shitty at it—but he's really beyond the Wall, here. He swallows hard around the lump in his throat and stops himself from brushing his fingers down the delicate line of Ignis's cheek, knowing that if any more tenderness seeps in he won't want to stop.

Ignis breathes in sharply when Gladio pulls his belt from its loops. Gladio takes his forearms and cinches them together behind his back, hand-to-elbow, then stands. Ignis's head is bowed, and Gladio pulls off his tank top to tie it around Ignis's eyes. If they were in his room, he'd have done better, but the shirt will do.

"Crawl," Gladio orders, and Ignis makes a few ungainly, blind movements forward on his knees before settling back on his heels, shaking his head. Gladio snorts and forces his hand under Ignis's armpit, pulling him up and forward. He half-drags Ignis across the hardwood floor, his knees skidding and bouncing as Ignis bites back small sounds of pain.

He throws Ignis forward before Ignis's knees reach the soft throw rug of the living room, relishing the gasp of fear before Ignis's upper body lands on a thick floor pillow—one of the ones that made an appearance shortly after Noct and Ignis had started fucking. Gladio usually tries not to think too hard on their existence. Ignis rocks from side-to-side, getting his knees under him, and Gladio takes a moment to admire the way the position pulls Ignis's slacks tight across his sculpted ass.

"Stay here," he orders this time, and Ignis's body sags minutely into the pillow. Under the blindfold his mouth is soft and open, panting quietly. Satisfied Ignis isn't going to disobey and do something stupid, like try to move and ending up braining himself on the coffee table, Gladio turns and heads to Noct's bedroom.

So Iggy didn't want Gladio to fuck him in Noct's bed—that's fine. There's probably no harm in borrowing a few supplies, though. He opens the nightstand and finds the usuals, including a blindfold he probably would have done well to have had five minutes earlier. Gladio puts all thoughts of _well, next time_ out of his mind as he grabs the lube, not bothering to close the drawer before sauntering back out to the living room.

Ignis is exactly where he left him, knees spread wide and ass up in the air, his hands curled around his elbows. His forehead is turned into the pillow to spare his neck, but he twists to the side when he hears Gladio approach. "Gladio," he murmurs.

"Yeah, I'm still here. You're not getting off that easily," Gladio says, dropping to his knees behind Ignis. Ignis jumps when Gladio goes straight to taking two possessive handfuls of his ass, kneading him roughly and watching the complicated emotions that flicker across Ignis's face, especially when he reaches down and gives Ignis's cock and balls a squeeze. Ignis hisses, spreading his legs further.

Gladio pulls Ignis's slacks down from his hips, and his underwear with it. He's seen Ignis naked before; he and Ignis have showered in the same room enough that he already knows this part of him is just as perfect out of clothes as it is in, smooth and tight and unblemished. With legs spread, though, Gladio's breath catches in his throat as the rest of Ignis is laid bare: the darker skin between his asscheeks, peppered liberally with whorls of dark blond hair. Gladio slides his thumb from the seam of Ignis's balls to press against his hole, watching the way Ignis clenches up at the pressure before relaxing, almost drawing him in.

"Oh, you have done this before," Gladio says, plunging the pad of his thumb shallowly into the grip of Ignis's hole. "How many men have had this hungry ass, right here on this floor?"

Ignis groans, rubbing his face against the pillow. "No one," he admits, almost lost in the fabric. "No one… just Noct…"

"That so," Gladio says.

Ignis's face tightens and he jerks his head up and down.

"Shit, no wonder you need—" Gladio starts, but finds he doesn't want to continue the jab. Doesn't want to keep being mean, when Ignis is so soft and vulnerable. "Six, Iggy," he mutters instead, mostly to himself. "All you had to do was ask. I didn't have to come in and take it."

Ignis makes a distressed noise and curls in on himself. "I don't—" he starts, shifting his weight on his knees like he intends to rise. Gladio spreads his hand over the small of Ignis's back and gently pushes, and Ignis drops back down to the pillow with a deep sigh.

"I'm tired of asking," he says softly, after some time.

It feels confessional, for all that Gladio had already assumed that was the case. He leans in and kisses the base of Ignis's spine, the knobbly crown before the descent between his cheeks. "I get it," he says, murmuring the words right into Ignis's skin. "Let me drive, alright?"

"Please," Ignis replies, and lets out a wet gasp as Gladio cups his cock in one hand and strokes it.

"Good," Gladio praises him, "No more fighting. No more pain. You just do what I say."

Gladio can practically sense the fight drain out of Ignis, like the way some chicks go all soft and obedient when you boss them around, and you gotta treat 'em kind when they come back. The fact that it's _Ignis_ this time makes it even sweeter.

The sound that Ignis makes when Gladio dips his head to ghost his lips over Ignis's hole is surprised, with a little bit of discomfort. "Ssh," Gladio says, breathing out over sensitive skin. He takes his free hand and squeezes Ignis's ass, lifting up the heavy cheek for better access. "I want to do this, so I am. Stop acting like you get a say."

The next time he kisses Ignis there, Ignis lets out a groan that sounds like it comes from his toes. Gladio hopes Ignis can feel his smile as he does it again, eventually transitioning to open-mouthed kisses and, finally, licking. Gladio licks away the salt-taste of him, enjoying even more the high, helpless noises it makes tumble out of Ignis's mouth, seemingly unbidden. He flattens his tongue, points it, licks Ignis from balls to tailbone, finding the places that make Ignis squirm and gasp, like finding the right radio station between so much static.

Finally, content with the dripping mess he'd made of Ignis's crack, Gladio takes a deep breath and plunges his tongue into the hot clench of Ignis's hole. Ignis keens like an animal in a trap, tensing and relaxing like he can't decide whether to pull away in embarrassment or push himself further onto Gladio's tongue. It's not up to him, though; Gladio holds him firm with one hand on his hip and the other around his cock, stroking steadily. Caught between the two instincts and unable to act on either, Ignis trembles under his hands and breathes heavily through clenched teeth.

Gladio fucks him leisurely with his tongue, alternating between thrusting past that tight ring of muscle and just licking him, plying him with lips and teeth as much as with tongue. Gradually, he can feel Ignis relax into the pleasure, tilting his hips back as much as Gladio will allow, meeting his every movement. And that's when Gladio slides his hand inwards, letting his thumb slip in alongside his tongue.

"Aah, _aah_ ," Ignis gasps, squirming as Gladio gently pries him open. His thumb sinks in with barely any resistance, so Gladio replaces it with two fingers. He sits back on his heels and wipes his mouth on his bicep, both hands occupied, enjoying the way his fingers disappear smoothly into Ignis.

He could do this for literal hours, if he felt Ignis would let him. Ignis is impossibly hot and smooth around his fingers. He takes his hand off Ignis's cock only long enough to open the lube bottle one-handed and pour it onto the place where they're joined, soft wet sounds joining the chorus of noises coming from Ignis.

Stripped of the fiction that'd started this whole encounter, it's easy to treat Ignis _well_. He's so responsive just to this touch, just two fingers curling inside, seeking out the places that make him groan and bend his body for more. Shit, he's _gorgeous_ ; he's got a body practically made for fucking and it's a damn shame he's ever wanted for anything, especially something that comes to him as easily as this.

He knows it's about to happen before Ignis tenses up, groaning: "I'm— I'm going to finish, Gladio—"

"Then go for it," Gladio says, not bothering to keep the grin off his face. "You usually able to come again, or nah?"

Ignis lets out a long moan in response, clenching rhymically around Gladio's fingers. "Nnngh, no… not usually…" he pants.

"Hmmph," Gladio snorts, and doubles the pressure downward on Ignis's prostate. Ignis cries out in alarm and nearly _sobs_ when he comes, hard, clamping down on Gladio's fingers like a velvet vice. Gladio fucks him through it, coaxing more contractions of pleasure from Ignis every time he thrusts in.

Finally, when spend has stopped dripping from Ignis's cock and his body's gone still and relaxed once more, Gladio slows down enough to let Ignis catch his breath—but he doesn't stop. Ignis curls in on himself again as Gladio gently keeps fucking him on his fingers, slow and steady and unstoppable.

"Gladio, I can't—" Ignis gasps, writhing in discomfort.

"Oh, I bet you can," Gladio says. His other hand cradles Ignis's wet, softening cock, coaxing it back into wakefulness. "And if you can't, well," Gladio shrugs, pairing it with a twist of his fingers that makes Ignis cry out again, "I'm still going to fuck you, so you may as well get used to the feeling."

Ignis smiles, more like baring his teeth. "How kind of you," he says, breathlessly.

"I'm a real stand-up guy, for a sex offender," Gladio says, which startles Ignis into a laugh he has to hide in the pillow. Gladio chuckles and leans in, pressing a wet kiss to the sweaty bumps of Ignis's spine. "Just a little more," he promises, to Ignis's helpless whine. "You're doing great."

" _Gods_ , Gladio," Ignis whimpers, squirming in his hands. "I can't, please—"

"Shut the fuck up," Gladio says, with affection, "and get hard again."

"It hurts, Gladio, please—"

Gladio kisses him again, soothingly. "It ain't real pain," he says. "You just wanna give up before you see results. Walk it off, champ."

This time, when Ignis laughs it's desperate and disbelieving, but he doesn't beg any more.

Ignis isn't _completely_ hard again when Gladio finally deigns to stop, probably not even halfway to be honest, but he's at least somewhat stirring again when Gladio releases him and slips his fingers free of that soft, hot channel. Ignis's near constant moan takes on a mournful note at the lack of contact, but it's only until Gladio can pour some more lube on himself and get up on his knees.

His cock lays so perfectly between Ignis's spread cheeks, it's a crime he can't take a video. And it's not just that: it's Ignis laid out before him with his ass in the air, perfectly pliant; the beautiful, entreating arch of his back; his slacks still around his knees from where they hadn't even bothered to take them all the way off. The ersatz blindfold obscures his face, and his hands are loose and curled around his elbows. In short, he's the most beautifully composed thing Gladio's seen in a while, and it's not like he hasn't had his eyes open.

He rubs the head of his dick up and down that slick valley a few times, feeling it catch on Ignis's hole. After a few passes—and Ignis's hips tilting into it more insistently each time—he lets it slip in. Ignis lets out a moan, deep in his belly, as he opens up around Gladio's cock, and Gladio works the first inch or so in and out of the impossibly tight pull of him.

Gladio's not—okay, he's not _massive_ , alright, he's downright stumpy if he's not hard, but in action? Girth trumps length, in his experience. Girls seem to dig it, but guys usually have a harder time. Ignis, though; Ignis takes it like a fucking king. He can feel Ignis bear down, admitting more and more of Gladio's cock in a slow inexorable slide until his hips come flush with Ignis's ass.

" _Six_ , Iggy," he praises, slowly pulling out and watching Ignis's ass practically swallow down his cock. "You were made for this."

"Nnngh," Ignis replies, his bound hands curling around empty air. His breath is high in his throat, pushed out through his clenched teeth as he takes Gladio's cock again, and again, each time gradually faster until Gladio can slide in and out of him smoothly. Gladio pours more lube on himself and fucks it deep into Ignis, making the way even more effortless. And he's just—Shiva's icy tits—he's so hot and smooth inside, cleaving to Gladio's cock like they were made in a pair.

"Gladio, you can—" Ignis bites out, halfway muffled by the way his face is pressed into the pillow, "—please, harder—"

He doesn't have to be told twice. It's been a fuckin' eon since he almost came down Ignis's throat, and his dick is _aching_ for it, both from this and from the memory of Ignis in euphoric agony at his feet.

On second thought, it's probably good there's no video evidence, because it doesn't take long until Gladio's pretty sure he's gone full caveman; he knows he's saying something, but it's just a lot of _yeah_ and _fuck_ and the occasional _fuck yeah_ , working his way down the litany of embarrassing dirty talk until eventually he's practically bent over Ignis, pinning him down onto the pillow with both arms, hissing _fuck, Iggy, yeah, take it, take my cock, fuck your tight little hole, gods_.

Ignis, for his part, arches back into him as much as he can with his arms bound, canting his hips up to meet every thrust. He doesn't speak at all, though he's far from quiet; Gladio wonders if he can make him scream if he comes again, if he can come just on Gladio's cock, because Gladio's fast approaching the point of no return on his own orgasm and he doesn't want to take his arms away from where they're wrapped around Ignis, holding him in place, keeping him secure underneath Gladio—not even to offer a hand, because it's just too fucking _good_ to let go.

His whole awareness narrows down to that one perfect feeling, a hair's breadth from the gods-damned divine, his pleasure and his desire stretching out asymptotically until suddenly his body lurches across to the other side, until he's burying his face in Ignis's neck and shouting as his soul downright leaves his body, right out through his dick and deep up into Ignis.

"Oh, _Six_ , oh, _shit_ ," he groans, still fucking Ignis even as he's wrung dry. "Iggy, _fuck_ —"

"Gladio," Ignis cries, but whatever he's got to say dies in his throat with a yell when Gladio finally reaches down to stroke him, vindicated to find him completely, achingly hard.

He fumbles with Ignis's cock, fingers gone slow and inept with orgasm, until finally giving up and flipping Ignis over to sit in his lap, legs spread to either side as one foot finally wrests itself free of his slacks. Ignis's arms are pinned underneath his back, arched across the pillow all trussed up like a feast, and Gladio devours him—leans over where Ignis is splayed in his lap and takes all of Ignis's slender cock in his mouth.

Ignis tenses and kicks, squirming as Gladio gets him off with ruthless efficiency. He's so hard, and bittersalt from his previous release and the sweat of exertion that coats both their bodies. Gladio doesn't bother with tenderness, not when Ignis is writhing in his arms, gasping out his pleasure, tensing and relaxing like he can't be bound to just one state. He just sucks, and swallows, and lets Ignis thrust up into his throat until he comes, flooding Gladio's mouth with his hard-earned release.

Ignis endures his orgasm through clenched teeth, grunting as his body surges and shivers in Gladio's hold. Gladio swallows the bitter spend and keeps at it, plying Ignis with gentle lips and tongue until Ignis is shaking, pleading, overstimulated, gasping with laughter.

"Gladio, s-stop—" he whines, and finally, Gladio's ready to listen. He gives the head of Ignis's cock a lingering kiss before letting it fall back against his belly, then scoots back so Ignis can gingerly close his legs.

Gladio helps Ignis roll to the side, enough to unbuckle the belt from around his arms and get them out from under him. He meets Ignis's eyes; the shirt that was once around them is rucked up across his forehead, and he gets that too, using it to give them both a cursory wipedown before tossing it over his shoulder.

By the time that's done, Ignis is trembling from more than overstimulation. Gladio reaches around until he can grab one corner of the throw blanket and pull it down over them both, cradling Ignis to his chest. Ignis barely resists, which comes as a surprise to Gladio; he's not sure if Ignis is a secret post-coital cuddler, or if he's just that out of it.

"Hey," he says, kissing the words into Ignis's mussed-up hair. "You okay?"

Ignis makes an ambiguous noise and turns more towards Gladio's chest. Gladio can feel his breathing, quick but deep, against his bare skin.

Gladio nudges Ignis with his nose. "What's going on in that big brain?"

Ignis sighs, sending a gust of air through the narrow gap between their bodies. "Nothing, for once," he says, sounding distant. "It's... good."

"Yes, indeed, you did quite admirably," Gladio says, mimicking Ignis's stuffy Tenebraean accent, "I do say, you play a rather convincing brute."

This time, Ignis huffs in amusement. "Don't let it go to your head," he murmurs.

A companionable silence stretches between them, filling the space like so much warm water. Eventually, Ignis continues: "I have never thought of you as a brute, you know."

Gladio runs his fingertips over Ignis's shoulder and down his arm, lacing their fingers together and holding Ignis's hand to his chest. Ignis's head is a comfortable weight on his other bicep. "Good to know," he replies.

He's almost ready to let them both slip into the easy stupor of afterglow when a question, almost forgotten, bubbles up from the recesses of his mind. "Hey, Iggy?" he asks, and Ignis, already mostly drowsing, hums in response. "One question. You don't gotta answer, but… why me?"

Ignis blinks back to awareness, a faint line appearing between his brows as he gathers himself. "That is rather a loaded question, isn't it."

"Humour me."

"It was Noctis's idea," Ignis says, slowly, "though, in retrospect, you were the obvious choice. Not simply for your… physical attributes, though they are ample motivation, but also for your discretion, and your experience, and for your ability to understand."

"I don't, though," Gladio responds, laughing under his breath. "I ain't exactly a prince. Doesn't get much more fucked up consent issues than that."

The line between Ignis's eyebrows deepens. "It's more complicated than it seems from the outside. Noctis…"

Ignis pauses, as if unsure whether to continue, and chooses his words carefully. "Noctis often finds wielding the power of the Crown distasteful," he says, "and in a way, I am grateful. It relieves our relationship of many of its inherent imbalances. But, in other ways…" Ignis shrugs. "One desires what they will, I suppose, and I am no different."

"And so he…"

"I asked him to do it and he declined, though he was amenable to... outsourcing my request," Ignis clarifies, "and then I assume he approached you for assistance, as he later told me someone had agreed. The exact details, I had no hand in planning. That was rather the point."

"Huh," Gladio replies. "But it was okay, though? Everything you, uh, needed?"

Ignis is quiet for a few moments, a passing shadow of embarrassment tightening his features. "Yes, quite."

"Because I don't… I don't really think all that shit about you and Noct," Gladio continues, "That's just talk, alright?"

Ignis closes his eyes again. "I had never assumed otherwise," he says. "I assure you, I find Noct entirely satisfying, as well."

Gladio doesn't reply, content to let Ignis drift off and enjoy the rest of the experience… except for one thing. He pats the pocket of his sweatpants—still wearing them, like a real champion—before realizing his phone is still on the counter where he'd left it after getting Noctis's message.

"You want the brat?" he asks, "I can text him. I'm just gonna need my arm back."

Ignis is quiet for so long, Gladio thinks he might have fallen asleep. But, eventually, Ignis's lips quirk up on one side affectionately as he replies, "Yes, if you would. If you don't mind, that is."

"Yeah, no problem," Gladio says, "It is his apartment, after all."

Together they extricate Gladio from both blanket and Ignis, and he tucks Ignis in before padding across the apartment and getting his phone. He types out a short message— _all done, come back whenever_ —with one hand, grabbing a cup and filling it with water from the fridge with the other. While he's there, he figures he may as well dump the pasta into the colander in the sink, the noise prompting a faint 'thank you' from the living room.

He does go find the knife, which had slid under part of the cupboards, but leaves the rest of the evidence of their struggle as it is. By the time he makes it back, glass of water in hand, Ignis has gone completely slack in relaxation. He stirs as Gladio approaches, but only to blink slowly up at him from a halo of blanket.

"Do you wanna cuddle, or…?" Gladio asks, leaving it open.

One long arm extends from the blanket, gesturing to the nearby couch. "Stay," Ignis murmurs.

That, he can do. Gladio sits on the edge of the cushion and leans down to help Ignis take a sip of water, putting the cup on the floor within easy reach afterwards. As he sits back, he can feel Ignis's hand curl around his bare ankle: a single point of contact and comfort between them.

"You good?" he asks, and Ignis _mmhmms_ in response. "You want me to stop talking?" Another hum, more amused. Gladio chuckles and pulls out his phone again, starting up the King's Knight client. "Alright. You just let me know if you need anything."

The hand around his ankle squeezes lightly and goes still, and Gladio settles in to keep Ignis company until Noctis returns.

**Author's Note:**

> I write! I draw! I make julienne fries! Your comments literally sustain me! Join me [on Tumblr](http://chaoslindsay.tumblr.com) or [Twitter](http://www.twitter.com/neomeruru) for my fanart and other stuff!
> 
> This fic is remix-friendly: I give blanket permission for non-commercial translations, podfics, remixes, inspired fanfic, and fanart! Just let me know where you put it, so I can make sure others see it too!


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